I will never tell
by TikTokTunes
Summary: Third chapter is a non-poetry verion of this fic. I will never tell you - You will never know - I will never mouth it against your warm skin - You will never fell it on my lips - I will never tell - You will never know - But still… - I love you
1. Chapter 1

Weird poem that spawned in my brain during a English lesson. It's up to you who it is about. I, myself belives it is England's p.o.v. but is still quite uncertain of who he is talking too, though my guess it is America. I'll post this while I am working on one of my longer chaptered stories.

* * *

><p>I will never tell you<p>

You will never know

I will never say it out loud

You will never hear it

I will never whisper it even when I am alone

You will never catch me saying it by mistake

I will never mouth it against your warm skin

You will never fell it on my lips

I will never show it in my expressions

You will never read it from my face

I will never tell

You will never know

But still…

I can't keep it inside.

So I will write it down

On a slip of paper

That I enchant to be invisible

Untraceable

Unfindable

And then…

I will burrow it

In the sand by the river

And leave it there

And perhaps

The reed will grow there

And when the winds blow past

It will whisper my secret

I love you…

I love you…

I… love you…

It is I… it is me… and… I love you

…love you…

Should not… …but still do

Loveyouloveyouloveyou…

So much that it hurts…

And perhaps

One day

You and I will walk down to the river

And I will be nervous

Because I recognize the place

…And there **does** grow reed there…

And I will try to hurry past it

Swearing and muttering

And hiding

…the longing in my eyes…

…and the ache in my heart…

And you

You will be laughing

Like you always do

And when I try to drag you past the place

You will stop

Stubborn like you always are

And I will swear even more

You will only laugh…

…and call me adorable…

Like you always do

You will sit down

By the river

And drag me down with you

I will complain

…for a while…

Before I ask while acting exasperated

(but I am only acting)

_Why must we stop here?_

And you…

…with your hair like spun gold and blue, blue eyes…

Will turn your face against the sun

And close your eyes

And answer me

_The wind here…_

_What! _

I will stutter hiding my blush with anger

_The wind here calls…_

_It sings and whispers something_

_Can't you hear?_

And of course

I will deny it

Vehemently

But

You might

…just might…

See through me for once

Because I do hear

But you will never know

And I will act

Like I always do

And ask

_What does it whisper?_

And you

You

Will say

(I love you)

_It whispers I love you_

And I will know

Then

And there

That you have heard the wind

And those word

That I dared write

Just once

…

But

I…

I will laugh it of

Not say a word

Keep acting

Because I am not brave

Like you

…

…And then

The moment will pass

And we will walk on

And leave…

…The place by the river…

…Where the reed grows…

…And the wind whispers…

…My words

And

Hopefully…

You will forget

What you heard the wind whisper

Because you often forget things

At least I think so.

But

You never do what I think you will

Never as I expect

And next time

We are walking together

By the river

You stop…

At the same place…

Because you are you

Because you never really forgets

Those kinds of things

Not for real

Even though you might trick me into thinking you do

(and for some reason you always manage to trick me)

And again

We sit down

While I swear

And protests

And you

Smile

And the wind

The mischievous wind

It whispers

Those words

And for a moment we are silent

And you listen

While I…

Pray…

Pray that you don't recognize the voice…

…that the wind has stolen

To whisper those words…

And of course…

Nothing does happen

We will continue our walk…

By the riverside

…But…

We will return

…Again…

…And again…

…And again…

And each time

The place has grown more and fuller of life

And the wind sings stronger and stronger

And…

I know

That this place is growing…

Growing from my love

That I buried so that you would never find it.

And yet…

Here you are

Basking in it…

…Perhaps…

…or maybe not…

… well I will never know for sure

But…

…if I may be so bold to ask…

…here in my own mind…

_Do you know?_

_Do you know why the wind whisper?_

And perhaps…

(just perhaps)

…if I would dare to ask…

…out loud

You would say yes

And smile

That smile

For me

And then lean in

Past my acting…

…past my pretended anger

…and…

…past all excuses and protests

Just like that…

Leaning in and capturing me

Like you always seem to do

And then I would know…

Yes you know

Yes you recognized the voice

Yes

Yes

Yes

You feel the same

…

…

…

But…

…

It is just a perhaps…

A thrown out maybe…

A less than certain chance…

A dream…

But dreams are all I have…

In a world

Where I will never say it

And you will never know

And

I

Will

Write down

My words

On a slip of paper

And burrow it on the riverside

Where the reed grow.

* * *

><p>There might be a second chapter if my stupid bunnies decides to go rabid in another lesson. I think it would be from America's p.o.v. if I do another part.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

This was inspired by the awesome reviewer who wrote a long and very nice review only half a day or so after I published this. Thank you Kolbie Ru-ru. She made my bunny very happy. It is a bit shorter, but I hope it doesn't disappoint.

I remember…

Long, long, long ago

When I was a child

And you, my caretaker

You…

Used to tell me stories

…

You always told me

That stories…

Were important

Because we learn from them

And…

I remember

A story…

About a man who had a secret

One he could tell no one…

But…

He could not keep it in…

He…

Needed…

To…

Tell…

…someone

So

He went down

…to the riverside

And dug a hole

And whispered

His secret into it

And he thought he was safe then

But…

By the river

There grew reed

And when the wind…

…Played…

The reed would whisper

His secret…

And you told me…

To never…

…Ever…

Whisper my secrets

Because

Someone will always

Hear…

And time went by

of course…

(It always does)

And…

Many years later

We…

We were walking…

By the river…

And we came upon

…a place…

Were there grew reed

And suddenly…

Without reason

(and you are very, very reasonable)

You became…

…uncomfortable?

And hurried forward

Past the place

Away…

And I stopped

Curious…

And you…

…Swore like you usually do…

…And pretended to be irritated…

…And tried to drag me away…

But

You were blushing…

( you pretended it was anger)

But as always

I saw trough it

And laughed

As I made you sit beside me

Hugged you closer

Though I…

Perhaps should not have…

…done so

But well…

You did not protest

…much

And there we sat

By the river side

And listen to the wind

…

And…

…and…

…and...

Didn't the wind whisper interesting things.

(I love)

(love you)

It whispered

…_I love you…_

…

And I could not

Understand

…why….

… why it had your voice

…

When I told you

(because you asked)

You grew still…

…so silent…

…Comprehensive…

…and said…

…No more

But

It was okay

Because I was already beginning to understand

The answer…

Was growing oh so slowly

Like a seed…

In my mind

And the next time

We walked by the river

I stopped

At the same spot

And the reed had grown

Higher…

Taller…

And its whispers…

...clearer

We sat down again…

You did not want to…

But did not protest when I made you

I listened…

To the wind

Who whispered

With your voice

…

And do you know?

I was…

Wishing…

…wishing it was you

And not the wind

Who whispered…

…

But I guess…

I can never tell you.

If I would…

…If I did tell you…

…would you listen?

Would you sit there…

(with you hands in your lap)

Prim and proper

And listen?

Would you stutter?

…blush?

Would you…

…feel…

…the same?

I remembered that story…

…about the man and his secrets

But you would never

…be that careless

(would you?)

I hope you would

I hope you did

I shouldn't

But I hope

I…

Want it to be your voice

Who whispers

Those words

…

I wonder

If you were like that man…

Did you dig a hole…

…and whisper into it?

And

If so…

Would I find it

Should I search

Would I hear your voice…

…in that hole

I wonder…

…

One day…

I went to the river

…alone

Because you said you were busy

But you were blushing

(lying)

So I forgave you

Without you…

I walked down

That familiar path

Of smooth, smooth rocks

That your feet have wandered

many

many

many times

…

And I came

Too the river

And found the path…

And found the place…

And sat down…

Where the reed grows

I…

Shuffled

The soil

With my fingertips…

How strange it was

To find a place

Where the earth was soft

And

When I searched…

(Turning the dirt with my fingers)

I found

The roots of the reed

Curled

Around a slip of…

…paper

So sweet words

That were written

There

I recognized your writing

(of course I did)

So

I

Turned

And

Left

For

You

House

So that was it… A bit short, yes I know, but perhaps I will someday make a non-poetry fic about this. If I find inspiration to do so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Name**: Never tell

**Pairing**: UsUk

**Genre**: Romance, Fantasy (this part is not poetry though there is a rimming spell)

**Warnings**: Uhm… Blisters, and magic… very, very much magic

**Disclaimer**: I don't own England… or America… but the magic is mine so please if you want to use the spell (which I doubt anyone will) please ask.

**Summary**: I will never tell you - You will never know - I will never mouth it against your warm skin - You will never fell it on my lips - I will never tell - You will never know - But still… - I love you

**Notes**: Thanks really much too the reviewer who asked for another part, otherwise I wouldn't have written this. Thousand of thanks to my friend Bitou who I have managed to get in contact with again and said she liked this story. This is now somewhat short, but there will be more soon… and faster this time

* * *

><p>England looked down at the paper as it lay before him, white and unmarred by the black color of ink.<p>

He knew that he really, really shouldn't do what he was about to. How many times had he not told Alfred never ever to whisper secrets because someone would always overhear. There was always spirits, or creatures beyond what you saw, and they always whispered and whispered the secrets entrusted to them. And he had warned and warned those close to him because he knew that the woods and the rivers and the four winds could never keep a secret.

But he could not help it. He **had** to. The need was **tearing** on his mind until he could no longer stand it. Too keep it inside would surely kill him. Or at least that was what it felt like.

The old fashioned feather quill sank into the black inside of the ink pot, scraped against the edge to get rid of extra ink. The tip raised above the paper, shuddering for a few precious seconds while England's heart quivered. Then it descended with the weight of a decision finally made.

Word flowed over the formerly white paper, printed onto the surface to last until the end of time. These words would be true as long as England existed and even after that.

_I Love You_

He looked at the paper, nibbling his lip, unsure. Then he reached out with pale fingers and flipped the paper over.

_Alfred_

There, he was done. He had finally done it, and his heart already felt a little lighter. Now he would only need to burn the paper and scatter the ashes, and he would be safe. The pressure gone from his mind, and the secret safe, no one would now, and he would never blurt it out by mistake to someone who shouldn't know.

Relived, he whipped his pen and put it down. Resealed the ink pot, and putting away everything, locking his desk after taking the paper. He rose from his comfortable wooden chair, shut the table lamp that had been his only light, and left the room with the paper clutched to his chest.

The journey from his study on the first floor to the living room and the hearth on the ground floor through the homey wooden corridor made him nervous. He felt like someone would jump out from a corner and expose his secret, even though the idea was ridiculous. He was anyway relived when he reached the room illuminated by the warming fire that he had lit earlier.

He fell to his knees on the hearth stone, for a moment laying the paper at his side, and fed the fire as it had been dwindling. Then he reached for the paper again and, with a final lingering look on the black letters, threw it into the fire.

He stared at it, as it slowly fluttered down, settling a long way away from the fires centre and not really catching fire, but slowly started growing smaller as a red edge ate away at the paper. It had been a rather large paper, and the area his words occupied had been rater small, though they to him had seen immense, occupying his whole heart, and the fire took time to reach his words. The paper had settled with America's name facing up, and England's eye trailed over it again and again.

But as he sat there watching the fire grow closer to the name of his beloved, his heart was ceased by uncertainty. Would anything really change by burning up that paper? Wouldn't the secret just return to his heart then? He could almost fell the weight return to him as the fire took centimeter after centimeter of the paper and turned it to black ash.

He felt uneasy as the name of the one he loved came closer to being destroyed by each second. Like it was America's precious heart that was burning in the fire and not his secret longings and hopes. England felt an illogical panic take hold of him, and when the fire was dangerously close to the black ink he yelped, jumped up and reached for the fire iron, and desperately fumbled to get it out. It fell out onto the floor still smoldering in the edges, and desperate England reached out with bare hands to stifle the fire. He cared not for the blisters which formed on his hands as he managed to put out the fires, holding the precious slip of paper close to his heart.

xXx

Later on, when he had applied healing balm to his hands and wrapped them in white gauze, England sat in a comfortable chair in his living room with a cup of his favorite tea held delicately in his hands and that little slip of whit paper lying on the table beside him. He did not know what to do anymore.

He could no longer burn away his secret words; neither could he ever trust the security of any hiding place in his house. Though it was big and larger on the inside than the outside with more rooms and secret passages than any of his fellow nations knew, his house was always full of different magical creatures that had made it their haven. They would surely find it and when the spirits of magic got hold of a secret, you never knew what would happen with it.

The only reason they weren't here right now, was because it was the night of a full moon early and spring, and all were away, dancing in their sacred grooves and hidden places, celebrating the rebirth of he world.

He would need to hide it somewhere else, outside of his house, but still in his area of influence. Perhaps…

Yes, a spell would hide it from all of those who looked with their minds and souls instead of their eyes, but all those who looked with their eyes and not their souls would see it clear as a day. But what if he buried it? Yes that might work, bespell it first and then burry it, but not all too close to the house. No, he spent too much of his time in the gardens, taking care of his plants at the same time as he entertained guests for it to be safe. Especially as he grew roses, the flower of love, that in his garden often took on magical properties. They sought out the touch of love, and would twine around the paper that had soaked in his hidden feelings, and would betray his secret too anyone who asked, for it was in their nature too share love.

So where could he bury it? Not in the forest, for there the trees had spirits extra wakeful and alert. Not close to the road, for there humans travelled regularly. Not on the plains north of his house, for the mist formed strange shapes, telling stories of what had transpired…

He took a sip of his tea, allowing the warm liquid travel down his throat and sooth his mind. Quietly he stirred his tea with a silver spoon, before gently taping it against the brim and laying it down on the saucer. He watched the warm golden liquid swirl around, thoughts straying, when it hit him.

The riverside! There he could bury it. The river wasn't clear enough to suit the taste of the various water spirits who lived in his country. All who wanted stay close to him lived in the creek that crossed trough his forest. He could find a place where the ground was softer and bury the slip of paper there!

He almost felt like jumping up and getting to work at once, but leaving his tea to grow cold, or alternatively, to gulp it down in a few mouthfuls was so totally against his ways that he held himself back. Instead he sat back, sipping his tea carefully and planning exactly what spells and charms he would use to hide the note.

When he had emptied his cup he got up and took it to the kitchen, forcing himself to clean it carefully, before drying it and putting it away in the cabin he had reserved specially for his tea set. Only then did he hurry back to the living room, picked up the paper and left for his special magic ritual room.

xXx

He drew a circle with a seven-pointed star in the middle in coal. Then slowly backed around the circle marking it with water and salt also, while he slowly sang a spell. When he was done he stepped into its middle, bowed once to the north, once to the east once to south and once to the west. Then he carefully laid down the slip of paper in the middle and stepped out of the circle, clapping his hands together and uttering a word in the language of magic. He had not completed the creation of his magic circle.

This was only the beginning, but one of the most vital parts to all magic which originated from the fair folks art. It made sure the magic would only affect the things inside his circle.

By one of the wall was a large wooden cupboard, in this there was a drawer which contained many different rods. From there he removed a rod of hawthorn wood, about the length of his forearm and as thick as his ring finger.

Then he turned to the large bookcase that covered almost a whole wall. These were the books where he had written down spells he had created earlier so that he might use them again. Now he searched for a fitting concealment spell or charm. Finally he picked down a large tome from one of the lower shelves. It was hick and the pages had grown yellower with age, but it was neither dusty nor frail, as he had taken great care of all his books.

He leafed through it, looking for a certain spell that had come to mind. When he found it, he began mentally going over it, before deciding how to tweak it a little to fit his purpose better. Not too much, since there was a special power in spells that had originally been though up by the creator, and when changing an already existing spell you lost part of that power.

He put the book down on a book stand, leaving it open. Then he took a few steps back down onto the ritual floor, and traced a circle around himself with the hawthorn rod. He taped the rod against the ground outside the circle in the north direction twice, and then the once in the east direction. After that he faced north again, laying the rod in front of him so it pointed to the east. And then he recited, with a voice that betrayed nothing of his nervousness.

"Come calling, Come searching, Trough valley and hill

Words and emotions, are hidden by will

Eyes in the deep soul and eyes of the mind

Let no spirit find it, neither cruel nor the kind"

A small flash of muted light pulsated from the larger circle in which the slip of paper lay. The spell was completed.

xXx

A figure clad in a dark cape hurried out from the Kirkland mansion in the direction of the nearby river. The figure didn't stumble or hesitate on his way, even though it was in the late in the night, and the full moon hung low on the sky, partially covered from the figures view by the tree tops. But the path was a well known one and the figure sure on his foot.

He reached the riverside and then followed the river downstream for at least half a kilometer, now and then stopping and crouching down, digging experimentally in the soil. Then he reached a place where the earth seemed to reach his expectations. The hooded head swung around before seemingly deciding on a place, closer to the water line, where he hurriedly dug a hole with his bare hands.

The figure reached inside his cape, and removed something held in a tight fist. Slowly he loosened he cramped grip, and look down on the white paper, eyes wondering, before closing his fist around it, kissing it and then depositing it in the whole. He covered it again, patting the soil flat hurriedly, then stood up and left.

Had he stayed longer, or had he returned next day when the sun was once again making her way over the sky, he would have seen what keen eyes had missed in the dark. In the water, just under the place where the secret was hidden, grew the first sprouts of reed after the winter…

xXx

As England lay in his bed, trying to catch a little sleep before work called again, he thought about the thing he had done. It was foolish indeed, he berated himself, but oh, if he did not feel at least a little lighter in his heart now.

But all the happiness did not in the least diminish the risk he had taken. A word said, is a word someone can hear, and a word written is a word someone can feel, but a word hidden…

A word that was hidden almost called out to be reviled, and though he had found a safe place, there might have been something he missed, something he overlooked. The feeling kept niggling in the back of his head, and when he finally fell asleep his dreams were strange and filled with an old legend about a king with donkey ears and secrets that were whispered when the wind passed through the reed.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hello. Sorry this took so long time and ended up so short. There is a continuation coming, and it will probably take less time. The storyline that started out rather simple and uncomplicated took on a life of its own and this came out. I blame partially my fascinations with strange English words that quickly changed the mood of the story from what I first had planned, and partially my love of fairy tales and magic.

The magic in this comes from many sources. Partially my own imagination, partially from all I know of different mythologies. The ritual is one I came up with on my own but there are elements in it from other places. First, the magic circle, I choose to make the star seven-pointed because the number seven was considered one of the luckiest numbers by sailors, and had many connections with the seas, and so I thought it fitting for England to use. He drew the circle with coal instead of chalk because coal has a connection to fire. When he later traced the circle with water and salt, he added more symbols for water, and symbols for earth which is where salt sometimes comes from. Salt is also traditionally used to protect things. Bowing to all four directions is a part of many pagan religions.

The Hawthorn rod was not a wand, but was rather used as an ingredient in the ritual. I imagine England as an experienced magician has many components that are used for rituals saved for when he needs them. Wooden rods were often used in rituals, and the type of wood could really influence the magic. According to the information I found Hawthorn often represents the element wind and the direction north and east. It was used by fairies for protection and strengthens fairy magic, it is also good for protection, and is the only wood that is actually of any help when it comes to concealing magic. At the bottom is the link to a really helpful website I found.

Then last there was the spell he chanted. I came up with the words myself, but gained much inspiration about spell creation from many different Wicca articles and forums.

Now, do you want more of England's p.o.v. or maybe next chapter from America's p.o.v.?

.


	4. Chapter 4

And now we see what happens when I try to write something that I update regularly… Sorry to anyone waiting for an update. In my defense I can say that since this is poetry inspiration is a must.

To Sukikuro, first an apology that the should-be-easy explanation turned into full retelling of a myth.

In ancient Greek mythology there is a myth about king Midas, who was the judge in a competition of music between Apollo and the forest god Pan. King Midas judged in Pan's favor but everyone else agreed that Apollo was the better one. As a punishment for judging wrongly (fair or unfair as it may be) Apollo cursed Midas with donkey ears. Since he did not want any human to know of his shame, he from then one wore a tall gold crown to hide the ears. The only one who ever knew was the man who cut his hair. The man was sworn to secrecy, but he felt he had to say it once or he would go mad. So he went to the river, dug a hole and whispered king Midas secret into it. He thought the secret was safe, but soon there started to grow reed there, and when the wind whistled past, you could hear voices whisper _King Midas has donkey ears_.

* * *

><p>You often say that<p>

I think too much

That it might

be

my

biggest fault

…

Who am I

too judge?

…

But

I am doing it

Again.

Thinking.

All

Too

Much,

Wondering

Over things without

Consequence

About

_What if_

and

_Maybe_

…

Truly I am foolish

Such

Thoughts

Leads to Heartache alone

xXx

I am hurrying

Towards your house

Over

Stones and grass

Following

Old and

Familiar

Paths

Where we have walked together

In my

Hand,

A note

Dirtied by the

Earth

From the riverside

And my heart

Is full

Of

Happiness

And

…

Love

xXx

The pendulum

Of the

Clock

You gave me

Is swinging

Back

And

Forth

…

It was

A souvenir

From somewhere

I can't

Really remember

Germany?

Japan?

Spain?

It would be

Typical

Of you

To get a clock

From Spain

As a souvenir…

…

You joked

And called it a

Grandfather clock

That I remember

Because

You laughed,

And

When

**You **

Laugh

It is like sunshine in my home

I am waiting for you

We agreed

To meet

Today

Would you laugh

(Again)

If you knew

That

I

Have been sitting

Here

Waiting for an hour?

xXx

I can now see your house

In between

The trees.

The path

Takes a last

Curve

And opens up

To your garden

And there…

Wild roses…

Forget-me-not's…

Lilies…

… Familiar scents

That screams of your presence

And…

In the window

Light…

You are home.

Ten steps

Becomes five…

Becomes three…

… Two…

…One…

Closer

And closer

(and closer)

Now

Only a door

Between us.

In your door is

A window.

You have hung

Small curtains

In there

I

Laughed when I saw them

Because

They are so

**You**

…

It's

Easy to imagine

That when the weather is bad

You close

The curtains

And shut out the darkness.

You'd

Curl up

On the sofa

With

Your

Cup

Of

Tea…

And

Through the gaps

In the curtains

Your light shines out.

It

Is shinning now

And the curtains

Are open

xXx

You…

Are late

(again)

And now

I am nervous

…

It's been

An

Hour

Since my tea went cold

And

I put down my book

And now

You are late.

My emotions

Feels

Stretched out

Close

To

The

Limit

...

…

I think

I shouldn't just

Sit here…

(waiting)

I could call you?

Perhaps…

But

…No

You will come

Sooner or later

You always do

...

A minute

Passes

I never

Knew

How long a minute is

Before today

But then

A knock

I

Calmly stand

(Though it might look

Like I jumped up)

And walks to the door

Slowly

(Though you might think

I rushed)

And

Peek out

Trough the curtains

Wondering

Why you came

Trough the backdoor

…

It is you

Blue eyes

Glittering

And

Smile

**Beaming**

And

If

My hands

Fumble

With the door

It is

(Of course not)

Because I am

Nervous

And

If

_Only if_

I am

Nervous

It is

(Definitely not)

Because

Of

That

Smile

xXx

Shuffling footsteps

Announce

Your arrival

The curtains flutter

And I can hear

Fumbling hands opening the door

I Know

That when you open the door

You will be blushing…

And a smile

That you would call

_Foolish_ and _besotted_

Is hidden in my mind

…

You open the door

Greeting me with a

_You are late_

That I know really means

_Welcome_

And if I look closely enough

You are blushing

And the smile in my mind

Becomes a fond chuckle

I

Am welcomed in

Told to

Brush of my feet

Hang up my coat

And for god's sake clean my hands

Why are they so muddy?

Then you grow quiet

Looking at my hands

And the fist

That is closed around

That little note

I found

And

(Suddenly)

You look unsure

Perhaps my muddy hands

And a little note

Has a meaning to you

I hope so

I truly do

And

I also

Hope

That just like you let me in trough the door

Today

You will let me in further

Behind that mask

That you so often wear

Not that I can't see trough it

But still

Though I am mostly sure

Of what I see

It would be nice

Knowing

That all those small glances

Brushing your hand against mine by _mistake_

Those reddening cheeks

That are often set aglow

When we meet

And

That secretive little smile you have

Really means what I Hope

…

But you see

Today

I have a secret weapon

That will let me in

Past your walls

(those unnecessary walls)

This little note

That you are now staring at

And I cannot help it

As I stand here

In your kitchen

With muddy hands

To reach out

With my palm up

And the note there

And answer

The unasked questions

That has remained

Between us for hundreds

Of years

_I love you _

* * *

><p>AN: This will probably be the last piece of this fic in poetry form. I will add one chapter written in "non-poetry" form when I manage to write it. If there is interest though, I might write more with another pairing or another story in this form.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I apparently only write when I'm sick as a dog. Having found myself banished to bed for what is most likely the following week and a half if past patterns hold true, it took me all of half a day to completely use up all my saved reserves of updates from my favorite authors. I started going through old scribbles and looking at my two only published fics and found this half-finished. So I figured that now while I have the time I could try to finish it and finally close the poetry fic I've left hanging for years. My only other work, rebirth was written while I was sick during a holiday so really this seems like a pattern to me. Hopefully I'll someday manage to complete any of the many things I've started while not sick, but I'm not making any bets…

Anyways, to all of you (few as I think you are) who've waited for an end. Here it is.

Ps. As a note of warning. The first half of this was completed years ago and the last part this week, so they might seem different in tone and style, since I'm not sure I managed to recreate the same style of poem.

* * *

><p>How<p>

How could such a thing

Come to pass

It was unlikely

Improbable

Unimaginable

That you would search

Right there

Find

My words

Right now

…

They have promised

Rain

For this weekend.

And I

Thought

Perhaps foolishly

That the water

Would wash

Away

My words

If I waited long enough

There has been

Two hundred

Eighty

Six

Rainstorms

Since I Buried that note

…

But

Against all odds

Against each single

_Not possible _

That stood in your way

You

Have found it

On a riverbank

Which is many miles long

You found

The one spot

Barely centimeters

Large

Where I hoped

(Though maybe not

So sincerely)

That you wouldn't look

And

And…

_And_

Now you

Are standing

In my hall

With your palms

Dirtied

By earth

And your hand

Clenched

Around something

And I cannot say

If it is

**Hope**

Or

**Despair**

That chokes my breathing

…

…

How silly a thing it is

Love…

xXx

I am

Unsure

How to speak

How to ask

How to…

**Tell**

I have never been

Gifted

With words

As you so often tell me

How do I even begin

When your eyes are so

Very

Green

And

Trembling

Your

Small hands

Clench in your shirt sleeves

(Strong and gentle)

Your hair messy

(Gold like wheat fields)

Your brow furrowed

(Wise and noble)

Your mouth scowling

(Red like your roses)

You

Are as familiar

As my rolling fields

And valleys

You

I have known since before

I understood

What such knowing meant

I always see you

Even when I'm not looking

When the loud noise

And rumble

Of the world

Drowns out you voice

I always see you.

…

But such a strange thing to notice

Now

… you're feet are bare

On your wooden floor

Vulnerable

Like your aren't anywhere

Else.

And your Hands are clenched

And your Brow is furrowed

And you Mouth is scowling

And your eyes…

…are trembling

…

I raise my hand

Slowly

(Oh so slowly)

Opens it

_'__Is it true'_

I could ask

_'__Do you mean it'_

But it would be

Useless

Because you do not bury lies

You

Would only bury

The Truth

So deeply

_'__What is that?'_

Your voice is trembling

And like

All

Of your many masks

See-through able

_'__Something I found'_

_'__Where?'_

And oh

Oh my dear England

Why do you try to hide?

_'__At the riverbank'_

xXx

I

I am trembling

My soul feels loose

And shaken

As if it could

At any moment

Fall out.

I hope

(most sincerely)

That my body isn't shaking to.

That would be too easy for you

To see through

(Who am I kidding

…you

Always see through me)

_'__Why where you there?'_

My voice

Sounds foreign

Strange in my ears.

Have I ever

Sounded

So unsure?

…

As always your eyes are blue

Sky blue

Laughing blue

It is hard

To meet your eyes.

I wonder

Gaze shifting

If they've always been so

Intense.

You

Laugh…

_'__I wanted to walk.'_

_'__And the wind is kind there'_

_'__By your river.'_

If I thought

My voice would not

Shake.

Betray me

I would laugh

Because of course.

**You**

Would think so

By the river

The wind loves you dearly

It holds

Whisper

Of me

My secrets

And I

Love nothing more

…

I try

A snort, a sneer, a disbelieving sound

An expression

Of

Doubt.

Because you have still

Not

Said anything

About what you think

About what you feel

About why you came to search

The river bank

I still do not know

If I

Expect

Scorn

or

Laughter

or

Maybe,

Impossibly…

…

…

…

(Love)

Such a thing

Wistful

Fragile

Hope

I have nurtured for millennia

I dare not share it

Lest it breaks

But your hands are always careful

When you hold

Something you care for

Your strength

Gentle

For those

You love

…

I am gathering myself

As if

My soul **did** fall

Out of me and shattered

Into pieces

Gathering shards of me

Till I find

My voice

Which you have stolen

_'__Arthur_'

I dare not look

Up.

_'__Arthur'_

That is my name

Do not

Wear it out

(You could you know?)

_'__Arthur'_

I

Stop.

…

…

…

…

Your palms

Are

Warm

On my face

One clean

One stained

By earth

From that riverside.

I fell paper

Pressed against my cheek

Between you palm

And my

Skin

I

Freeze.

My being

Stops

I

Do not know

What to think

'_Arthur'_

Your forehead against mine

Water

On my skin

Am I…

Crying?

How very

Silly of me

Wait

No

It is you…

Dearest, dearest Alfred

Why are **you** crying?

You should not

You should never cry

Because

You

Deserves only

Happiness

But…

'_Arthur'_

Your lips are?

Smiling

_'__Arthurarthurarthurarthur'_

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Silence

My mind is

Silent

Your lips

Against…

Mine?

Your smile

Pressed to my mouth

This…

I…

Never…

Thought…

…

_Alfred_

xXx

Long ago

When you still

Called me

Brother

In golden

Childhood

Days.

You used to tell me stories

Such stories

And there was allways

A wisdom

Something to learn

Something to

Understand

To always be kind

To strangers

To family

To friends

Never to lie

(Unless you lie well)

To be careful with

…trust

…love

…secrets

To

Never

Tell

…

But

I know

(Secrets will out)

It is hard to be

Quiet

(Truth will tell)

And

As we are standing

Here in you

Doorway

I am only

Happy

That you could not

Would not?

Did not.

Follow

Your own wisdom

…

Your skin

Is warm under my hands

And your

Lips

Are

Soft

Under my own

And your

Love

Is safe

In my heart

There

Is

No

More

Hiding

Your masks I have taken

Your lies lay broken

At your feet

You

Gave me the key

Yourself.

I too

Have a secret

Can you tell?

…

…

…

_I love you, Arthur_

* * *

><p>So there it is. I think this better be the end. Hope you've enjoyed, and thanks for reading.<p> 


End file.
